


Birthday Boy

by Sally M (sallymn)



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Birthday, Gen, Humor, Old West
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 18:13:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallymn/pseuds/Sally%20M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a little ficlet in honour of a fellow fan's birthday...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday Boy

**Birthday Boy**

The infamous, terrifying gunslinger in black leaned back in his chair, cool menace in every inch of his whipcord-lean figure, and stared around the near-empty saloon with lethally hard eyes; after a long, icy pause in which the very air shivered around him, he looked straight at the men in front of him and spoke very very softly and ominously. 

"Y'all just call me a birthday boy, JD?" 

"I.... think we did, Mister Larabee," a very young voice from the side stammered. 

"At least once," a rich Southern drawl affirmed. "If not half a dozen times." 

"He hates birthdays," Josiah's deep rumble added. 

The gunslinger ignored that, his searing glare now boring into the man in front of him, standing there with a huge, wicked grin and hands full with Nettie Wells's best platter. 

But Buck Wilmington had spent years being seared _and_ bored (well, in a manner of speakin', as they all knew), and the glare bounced off his thick hide as always. "Now that's mighty unfestive of you, Chris, and here Miz Nettie done worked her kindly ol' fingers t'the bone to make you _this_ mighty fine token of th'occasion. Sad, it is." 

Vin stared at the frosted confection on the platter that, if it wasn't Larabee black, was as black as rich, costly chocolate could make it, and managed not to drool as he spoke with a remarkably serious - even mournful - voice. "Yup, sad, cowboy but," he went on with a slow shake of the head, "iffen you hate it so much, stands t'reason we cain't make you eat any of this first-rate -" 

"You don't wanna get yer fingers shot off Tanner, you keep them off that cake," the fearsome growl that had made grown men shake didn't quite have the same effect on a bounty hunter hunting chocolate. Tanner simply looked innocent and hid his frosting-covered finger behind his back. 

"Now now, Mister Larabee," Ezra soothed, "you cannot seriously mean to consume the whole of this exceedingly rich confection yourself. Ah'm sure Mister Jackson will agree that an ageing digestion is not to be -" He saw the scorching look thrown his way and the twitch of very fast fingers towards a gun, decided that discretion was the better part, and left the rest unsaid... though oh _so_ loudly thought. 

Nathan just blinked innocently, too wise to mention age, digestion _or_ cod liver oil before cake. 

The infamous, terrifying gunslinger stared at them all through narrowed and dangerous eyes... and slowly, smoothly, menacingly, rose from the seat to his full height, braced as for a battle. 

And smiled slightly, ferally, _hungrily_ , as his hand whipped out as fast as a draw and grabbed the plate before Buck could stop him. 

"Give," Chris growled. 

**\- the end -**


End file.
